


So This is Christmas

by cowboyguy



Series: Frayed 'verse [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Common Cold, Curtain Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Hell Sam Winchester, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sensory Processing Disorder, Sick Dean Winchester, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 19:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12942345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboyguy/pseuds/cowboyguy
Summary: Winchester Christmas traditions have never really been a thing. Maybe it's time to start some.Set in the Frayed 'verse.





	So This is Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KateKintail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/gifts).



> You'll see a new character in this fic -- Jane.
> 
> Jane is Sam's therapist, and part of the reason Sam and Dean moved to Indiana in the first place in this 'verse. She's married to a hunter, so she knows about things that go bump in the night, and is probably the most professionally qualified person to help Sam with his issues. She also loves these boys like her sons, because how could you not?

Dean really doesn’t want to go to work.

He blinks down at his bowl of soggy corn flakes, trying to will away the headache that he can feel building behind his eyes. He’s pretty sure he only managed to get about four hours of sleep last night, with Sam’s nightmares and restlessness, and the lack of sleep definitely isn’t helping this cold he’s had for the past couple of days.

Sam had it first, coughing and sneezing and feverish for almost a week, but he’s mostly over it now. Otherwise, Dean _definitely_ wouldn’t be going to work today. But he could use the money, and this job’s not going to last for much longer. So, cold or not, he’s going to work.

He leans forward and grabs a couple of tissues from the box on the dining table, swiping at his nose before he shovels another bite of cereal into his mouth. He glances through the kitchen doorway on the clock on the stove, keeping an eye on the time.

As he finishes the last couple of bites of his breakfast, there’s a soft knock at the front door. Dean hauls himself up from the chair, depositing his dishes in the kitchen sink and tossing his used tissues into the trash can before he goes to answer it.

_Right on time,_ he thinks, and pulls the front door open. Sure enough, Jane is standing there in her winter coat, purse slung over her shoulder and a warm smile on her face. And despite how crappy he’s feeling physically, Dean instantly relaxes a little, assured by the fact that someone will be here with Sam while he’s gone. It means he doesn’t have to spend all day worrying, or at least, maybe he can worry just a little less than usual.

“Morning,” he says with a smile of his own, stepping back to let her into the apartment.

“Hi, Dean,” Jane answers, leaning up to hug him before she shrugs off her coat and hangs it on the rack by the door.

“How’s it going?” Dean asks, ducking back into the kitchen to pour her a mug of coffee.

“Oh, I’m fine.” Jane walks across the room and settles into the dining room chair that Dean had just left, twisting around so she’s looking in the direction of the kitchen. “It’s getting chilly out there, though. Make sure you bundle up. How long is your shift today?” When Dean comes out of the kitchen, she accepts the cup he hands her with a grateful nod, bringing it to her lips to take a careful sip.

“Nine to four,” Dean responds. He leans back against the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room as he finishes his own coffee, savoring the warmth that spreads through his chest. He’s not really looking forward to spending all day outside, but Christmas trees can’t cut themselves down. Besides, as long as Jane is willing to come over and keep an eye on Sam, Dean needs to go make some money. “Thanks again for coming over, Jane. I really appreciate it, you know.”

“I don’t mind, hon. Don’t feel bad about it.” She gives him a knowing look. “Don’t go straight to feeling guilty, okay?” she insists. Dean swears it’s like she can read his mind sometimes. She takes another sip of coffee and adds quietly, “Besides, when Tom’s away on a hunt, I always worry. I’d rather come over here and take my mind off of it, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s he got this time?” Dean asks.

“Shapeshifter, he’s pretty sure.” Jane sighs, reaching up to push a loose strand of blond hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Honestly, I wish he’d just retire. He’s getting too old for this.”

Dean lets out a short laugh, which turns into a cough that he quickly tries to suppress. “Good luck. Once a hunter, always a hunter, is how it goes in my experience.”

“And you’re, what, the exception?” She looks pointedly at him, standing there in his very lived-in apartment with a mug of coffee in his hand and an “Oak Ridge Farms Christmas Trees” nametag pinned to his chest.

“Oh, I still got the itch,” he admits. “Believe me, I would love to be out hunting. But… well, you know.” He casts a look across the living room towards Sam’s bedroom door, still closed.

“Is he still asleep?” Jane asks, lowering her voice as she follows Dean’s gaze.

“Yeah,” Dean says. His voice goes a little raspy, and he clears his throat before continuing, “It was a rough night. He kept waking up from nightmares. Took me forever to calm him down enough to go back to bed.” He lets out a tired sigh. “Maybe he’ll talk to you about it.”

She nods. “If he’s ready. Are his nightmares getting worse again?”

Dean shrugs, sniffing quietly. “Not really. Some nights are just harder than others, you know? I tried that grounding technique you showed us at his appointment last week. That seemed to help.”

“Oh, good! He does seem to respond better to the sensory-based things I try with him. We’ll keep working on that.” 

“Yeah, he… he _feels_ a lot, y’know? But he’s not always that great at talking about it. At least, not when he’s lucid.” Dean thinks back to the night before, trying to calm Sam down after he’d woken up screaming. Trying to get him to focus on what he could see, what he could hear, what he could touch, rather than on the monsters that lived in his head. Wishing so badly that he could take that pain away somehow, instead of just trying to help Sam figure out how to live with it as it continually tried to break him.

“Shouldn’t you be going, Dean?” Jane asks, bringing him back to the moment. “You’ll be late for work.”

He glances up at the clock on the wall and hisses out a breath, patting down his pockets to check for his phone and wallet. “Ah, yeah, I—” He stops mid-sentence and his eyelids flutter shut as he takes in a shaky breath before letting out a sneeze. _“ehhh—HH’KSHHH!_ … I know.” He nods, sniffling and rubbing at the side of his nose with his knuckles.

Jane looks up at him in concern. “Bless you! You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“No, I’m fine,” Dean says, but his voice has taken on a raspy quality that signals otherwise.

“Dean…” Jane says in her best mom voice.

“Jane, I’m fine,” he insists, but his body chooses that moment to betray him and he muffles another sudden sneeze against his shoulder. “Okay, so I’m not totally fine. But it’s just a cold. I’m not going to keel over at any moment.” He heads across the room, grabbing his warmest hoodie from the coat rack, and starts to put it on.

“You really shouldn’t be outside for that long if you’re sick,” she admonishes gently.

Dean sighs, zipping up his hoodie. If he had to be perfectly honest, he’d much rather stay home. But that’s not going to happen. “It’s not that big a deal,” he says to Jane, trying to shrug off her concern. “I’ll be okay. I can still haul Christmas trees to people’s cars. It ain’t rocket science. And besides, you came all the way out here to watch Sam for me. I already feel like we’re pushing the client/therapist boundary here, I don’t want to screw up your day on account of my stupid cold.”

Jane gets up, picking up the tissue box from the middle of the table and holding it out to him. “How many times do I need to tell you, Dean?” She sounds exasperated. “Sam is not just another one of my clients. I’ll do whatever I can to help you boys. Don’t worry about me and my plans — which, by the way, I _did not_ have. I’m perfectly happy to stay here and help you out even if you don’t go to work.”

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at the floor. “Jane, I… I need the money,” he counters quietly. He sniffs quietly, waiting to see what she’ll say to that.

She doesn’t respond right away, and Dean glances up at her. Then she lets out a sigh and gives him a hard look as she says, “Alright. But try not to push yourself too hard?” She holds out the tissue box again, shaking it a little until he grabs a handful and shoves them into the pockets of his hoodie.

“I’ll do my best,” Dean responds, giving her a grateful look. He flips through his keyring until he finds his house key, heading for the door. “I’ll see you guys later. Call me if you—”

“We’ll be _fine_ , Dean,” Jane cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “You just take care of yourself.”

He gives her a smile and a little wave goodbye as he goes out the door, and a moment later, Jane finds herself alone in the quiet apartment. She lets out a frustrated sigh — Bobby Singer had warned her about the stubbornness of Winchesters — and pulls a book out of her purse before settling down on the living room sofa until Sam wakes up.

* * *

A little over an hour goes by before Jane hears movement in the bedroom. She slides a bookmark back into her book and unfolds herself from the couch, going over to Sam’s closed door.

“Sam?” she calls, knocking gently on it and waiting a moment before she turns the knob and pushes the door open.

The room is still dark, but she sees the shadowy outline of Sam sitting upright in bed, his legs slung over the side and his back towards her. At the sound, he twists around with a startled gasp.

“Sorry, honey, it’s just me,” Jane says quickly, pushing the door open so that light spills into the room from the living room.

Sam exhales in a shaky breath and relaxes a little, nodding slowly like he’s still trying to wake up. Not quite looking at her, he reaches up to push his messy hair away from his face and whispers, “Hi…”

Jane hesitates in the doorway. “Can I come in?” she asks, waiting until she gets another silent nod from Sam before she moves forward, walking across the carpet until she’s facing him. “How did you sleep?”

“Um… I…” He shrugs, mouth opening and closing like he’s not sure how to put his thoughts into words yet. Not making eye contact with her, he pushes himself up off the bed and moves past her to wander across the bedroom, hands fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. Stopping at the open bedroom door, he peers out into the empty room. “It’s quiet…” he whispers to himself in a voice that’s barely audible to Jane. Then, turning back, he looks over at her and says, “Dean’s not here?”

Jane shakes her head. “No, he had to go to work. He didn’t want to wake you.” Sam doesn’t look entirely satisfied with that answer, frowning at the floor, so she adds, “He’ll be back this afternoon, but I’ll stay with you until then.”

Sam thinks about this for a second and then nods. “Okay.”

When he shows no sign of making another move, Jane heads across the room to stand near him, reaching up to place hand gently on his back. “Are you hungry? I can make you some breakfast if you want me to. What do you think?”

“Yeah…” Sam responds softly. “Um… I… I can just have cereal. I’ll get it.” He pushes a hand through his hair and heads toward the kitchen.

From her previous experience looking after Sam, he’s not very talkative in the mornings, so Jane goes back to her spot on the couch and makes herself comfortable, listening to the soft sound of dishes clinking as Sam gets his breakfast.

* * *

The morning goes smoothly as Sam eats his breakfast and they lounge on the couch, watching daytime talk shows. They chat quietly between segments of TV, discussing the past few days, the weather, the new book Sam’s been reading. Sam doesn’t talk about his sleepless night, and Jane doesn’t push, not wanting to bombard him with questions that he’s not ready to answer.

Yet another Christmas sale ad comes on during the commercial break, and Jane swears if she hears “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” one more time she might scream, but when she glances over at Sam he’s watching the screen with rapt attention, unmoving and silent. When it’s over he’s still for a moment, with a contemplative look on his face like he only just now realized what month it is.

“Um, Jane…?” he says slowly in a quiet, hesitant voice.

“Yeah, Sam?” She reaches forward and grabs the remote from the coffee table, pressing a button to mute the TV.

“When’s Christmas? I don’t, um… I mean I…” he sighs in frustration. “I forgot…” Not being lucid all the time has made it a lot harder to keep track of dates, and he’s found that sometimes he’ll drift for a week without really knowing how many days it’s been, or even what year it is.

She rests a reassuring hand on his knee and picks up the conversation, answering, “Well, it’s December 7th right now, so we’ve got another couple of weeks until the 25th. Do you and Dean have any Christmas decorations?”

Sam shakes his head, running one hand absently along the patterns in the couch pillow next to him. “No, we… we never really did Christmas. Before.” He pauses, chewing on his bottom lip as he thinks. “And last year, we had just moved here, and I don’t remember doing anything.” He glances up at the TV again, which has now moved on to a car commercial. “Besides, Dean’s working at a _Christmas tree farm_ and we don’t even have a tree yet. I just… I want to do something for him. For once.” He stares down at his hands, idly picking at his fingernails. 

It’s clear to Jane what they need to do now. She claps her hands together, making Sam look up, and smiles over at him. “Well, why don’t we do a little holiday shopping today?” she suggests.

“Really?” Sam answers.

“Sure! We can go get some decorations, put them up before Dean gets home and surprise him. What do you say?”

After a moment, he shrugs. “Okay. Let’s… do Christmas stuff, I guess.” An apprehensive smile spreads over his face, as if the idea sort of intimidates him but is also really enticing.

Jane laughs. “That’s the spirit! How about you go get dressed first?” she suggests.

Sam looks down at his t-shirt and sweatpants, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Yeah, that would probably be a good idea.” He unfolds himself from the couch and disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Twenty minutes later, he comes back into the living room, dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved knit shirt, his hands shoved in his pockets and a look of nervous anticipation on his face. “So,” he starts, the silence hanging in the air for a moment before he continues, “Time to make everything — what’s that song — merry and bright?”

Jane nods in agreement. “Absolutely.” She grabs her purse from the couch and joins him as they head towards the door. “Your brother’s going to be thrilled,” she adds.

Sam chuckles, an amused grin spreading over his face. “He really will be. He loves this stuff.” He grabs his messenger bag from the coat rack, taking a quick look through its contents, and then shrugs on a fleece-lined hoodie, following Jane out the door.

* * *

There’s a Wal-Mart not too far from their apartment, and Jane decides to head there first, hoping they’ll manage to make it a one-stop shopping trip in order to avoid overwhelming Sam. So far he seems to be having a decent day — no hallucinations, no major issues yet — and she’d like to keep it that way if they can.

As they pull into the parking lot, Sam quiets a bit, trailing off in the middle of a sentence as he gazes out the window at the people going to and from their cars. The parking lot is bustling with activity - people unloading armfuls of shopping bags into their trunks, cars driving up and down the rows to find the best parking spot. As they drive slowly down the first lane, Jane keeps an eye on Sam. He’s pulled a stretchy coil keyring out of his bag and is twisting the loop in slow circles around his fingers, watching silently as families push full shopping carts past them on the way to their cars.

Jane finds a spot in the second row and pulls in, parking and shutting off the engine. In the silence, she looks over to Sam in the passenger seat. “Hey, Sam, honey?” she asks, wanting to make sure he’s paying attention before she continues.

“Hmm?” he answers, glancing over at her before his gaze wanders down to the loop of stretchy plastic in his hands.

“We can do whatever you want, okay? You just let me know if it’s too much and we’ll take a break.”

“Okay.” Sam nods gratefully in response to her words. “I— I think I’ll be alright, but… yeah. Okay.”

“Ready?” she asks, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Mmm-hmm,” Sam replies, slinging the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder before he carefully opens the door and climbs out of the car, waiting for Jane before they head down the parking lot together towards the store.

As they near the front entrance, Jane hears the distinctive sound of a bell being rung over and over. She looks up to see a red kettle set up next to a bored-looking Salvation Army worker, wearing a red smock over his sweatshirt and jeans. She looks over at Sam, who is starting to frown, a look of discomfort spreading across his face. She nudges him gently and he startles slightly and looks down at her. “Headphones?” she suggests.

“Yeah.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a pair of bulky noise-canceling headphones, and slides them over his ears, deadening the constant, grating jingling sound.

She keeps an eye on Sam as they walk past, ready to put a hand on his arm and guide him towards the store, but with the headphones on he manages to make it inside, despite still looking bothered by the sound. Thankfully, it fades as they enter the front of the store and the sound is swallowed up by the sounds of shoppers and the activity inside. Sam pulls the headphones off, depositing them back into his bag before he closes the flap, fiddling idly with the keychain attached to one of the zippers.

“Come on,” Jane says, just in case Sam needs something to refocus on, and beckons with one hand, grabbing a cart and steering it in the direction of the back of the store. “The Christmas stuff is all this way. Let’s go see what they have, okay?”

On the way there, Sam abruptly stops in the middle of the aisle, and Jane continues a few paces forward before she realizes he’s not following her. She turns back, one hand on the cart. “Sam? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t— I don’t have any money,” he says sheepishly, as if just realizing it.

Jane relaxes, smiling with relief. “Oh, don’t worry about that, honey. I’ll take care of it. Consider it my Christmas gift to you and Dean.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You boys deserve a good Christmas more than anybody I know,” she answers, nodding her head in the direction of the back of the store as she turns the cart, steering it and Sam down another aisle. As they near the Christmas section, Jane quietly scopes out the situation, meandering past a couple of rows until she finds one where only one other person is browsing the shelves. Turning back to Sam, who is following close behind her, she says, “First, we need lights. Every house needs lights for Christmas. I thought we could put some up in the windows, and on the tree, of course, when you get one. What do you think?”

Sam pauses next to her, surveying the wide array of light sets in a variety of colors and styles. One hand is still fiddling absently with the keychain on his bag, but he seems calm otherwise, silently contemplating his options. “I always liked the multicolored ones best,” he says quietly, still scanning the shelves.

“Me too,” Jane agrees, reaching up to grab a few boxes of multicolored indoor lights and holding them up for his approval before tossing them down into the empty cart. “Lights are the easy part. Now it’s time for the fun stuff.” She guides them down the aisle and around the corner to the next one, which is full of an assortment of overwhelmingly red and green decorations. There are giant plastic candy canes, and boxes containing ceramic Santa figurines, advent calendars full of candy and fake sprigs of snow-brushed holly and evergreen boughs. Bypassing most of it, Sam reaches out a hand, trailing it along the soft plush fabric of an assortment of Christmas themed stuffed animals.

“What is this, a moose?” he asks, pausing over one.

“I think it’s a reindeer,” Jane replies.

“I… kinda like it,” Sam says, picking up the floppy stuffed animal, running his hands over the super-soft fur. At that moment, a couple squeezes past them with their cart, the man accidentally bumping his shoulder into Sam’s back. Sam stumbles forward with a muted whimper and immediately tenses up, eyes closing as he clutches at the reindeer.

Jane hurriedly acknowledges the man’s apology, giving him a nod, and then turns to Sam, saying gently, “Sam, it’s okay. You’re safe.” She wants to reach out and touch him, but worries that will only stress him out more, so she continues, “It was an accident. You’re okay. Open your eyes. Can you look at me?”

Slowly, Sam does, taking in a few shaky breaths as he looks down at her, body still tense with anxiety. 

“You’re okay,” she reassures him. “What do you see?”

“I…” Sam whispers. “I… you. The… the store. Um… I… I see Christmas stuff.”

“Good, that’s good. What can you feel?”

Taking in another shaky breath, Sam nods, fingers curling into the fur of the reindeer. “…this, and… my clothes and… socks on my feet.”

“What can you hear?” she continues.

“…my voice,” he whispers, humming a little under his breath as he thinks. “You, and… and the music. And people.”

“Do you remember what we’re doing here?”

“Christmas stuff,” Sam manages to say. “…For Dean.”

“That’s right. You’re here with me, and we’re going to shop for some things and go home. Do you think you can do that, or do you need a break?” Jane asks gently, looking up into his eyes even though he won’t quite look at her.

He takes a deep breath, blinking back the tears that had started to form in his eyes, and Jane sees the tension in his shoulders start to fade. “I can…” Sam starts in a broken whisper, then clears his throat and tries again. “I can do it. I want to finish. Let’s— let’s keep going.” But he doesn’t let go of the reindeer, hugging it tightly to his chest as he takes a hesitant step away from the shelves and moves further down the aisles.

“Why don’t we look at ornaments next?” Jane prompts him after a minute, walking next to him and pulling the cart along behind her. “You’ll need something to decorate your tree with when Dean gets one, right?”

“Okay,” Sam agrees, still sounding a little shaky but less anxious than he had a few minutes ago.

The next aisle is full of ornaments, some stacked on shelves and others hung individually from rows and rows of hooks. Sam browses through them, occasionally asking Jane for her opinion, and settles on sets of blue, green, and silver ornaments before he moves on to the individual ornaments that encompass a multitude of occasions (”Baby’s First Christmas!”, “Just Married”) and pop culture icons (everything from Norman Rockwell to SpongeBob Squarepants). As he peruses the rack, his hand lingers over one in particular and a smile spreads slowly across his face.

“Barbie?” Jane asks, one eyebrow cocked in a quizzical expression.

Sam pulls the bright ornament off the rack and examines it, looking at the description on the glittery pink packaging. “Dean got me a Barbie for Christmas one year — well, he _stole_ me a Barbie, but he didn’t know that was what was in the box. And then he got me a Barbie for real the year after that, just to be funny.”

Jane bursts out laughing at the story, and at the expression Sam makes at the memory of that particular gift.

“Retribution’s a bitch,” Sam adds, carefully placing the ornament in the cart on top of the others.

Still chuckling, Jane responds, “If I’m not there when he opens it, I want photographic evidence of his reaction.”

Sam nods, perusing the rack and pulling down a few other pop culture ornaments, as well as a few generic Christmas-themed ones. On the other side of the aisle they pick out stockings to hang by the TV, what with the lack of a fireplace in their apartment. Sam gets a C-3PO one for himself and an R2-D2 one for Dean — because they match but also because it means he can call Dean short.

By the time they leave the Christmas department, they’ve picked up a wreath (which Sam refused to touch), Christmas-themed gel clings for the windows (tactile but not overly sticky), and the beginnings of a ceramic village scene, complete with a sheet of fake cotton snow and tiny plastic evergreen trees. Sam looks like he’s starting to get tired, though, and Jane decides to call it a day, steering him in the direction of the checkouts so they can go home and rest.

As they near the front of the store, it starts to get louder and more chaotic again, crowded with people all trying to find the shortest line. Jane maneuvers the cart around a DVD display, picking a register that only has a few people currently waiting next to it, and turns back to check on Sam, who is starting to look uncomfortable and overstimulated again. He squints up at the fluorescent lights as if he can turn them off through sheer willpower, restlessly clenching his hands. When another customer hurries by, he startles, bumping into Jane as he backs up into the narrow confines of the checkout aisle.

“It’s okay, hon, we’re almost done,” Jane assures him, reaching into the cart and depositing the items on the conveyor belt. But it’s getting clear that Sam needs to get out sooner rather than later. He shoves his hands into his pockets, one leg jiggling up and down with nervous energy as he waits with her in line. They’re surrounded by movement and sounds — the rustling of plastic bags and the continual, discordant noise of beeping scanners. The kid sitting in the cart in front of them starts to pitch a fit when his mom takes a candy bar out of his hands, and Sam presses his hands against his ears at the sudden high-pitched shrieking that ensues.

Reaching carefully for his messenger bag, Jane pulls the headphones out again, holding them up in Sam’s direction until he grabs them from her, one hand still held up to his head, and jams them over his ears. He pushes his hands back into the soft fleece pockets of his hoodie and scrunches his shoulders up, as if that’ll help to further block the sound.

When it’s finally their turn to check out, Jane tries to hurry the cashier as much as possible, waving away the offer of a store credit card and holiday savings deals. She digs her card out of her purse and pays for their items, quickly piling the bags back into the cart and pushing it forward before taking one of Sam’s elbows and leading him away from the chaos. She looks up at him, asking with a concerned expression on her face, “You okay?”

He nods in response, but looks as tense as she’s ever seen him, totally ready to escape the store and be back in the quiet and safety of his own environment.

Thankfully no one stops them as Jane drives a little too fast down the highway towards home.

* * *

They pull into the parking lot and almost before Jane turns the car off, Sam is already unbuckling his seat belt and climbing out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. Jane hurries out of the car after him, going around to the back where Sam has stopped, gripping the strap of his messenger bag and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Sam, do you want to help me bring our stuff inside?” Jane tries, taking a step towards him.

But Sam doesn’t respond to her question, instead twisting the strap of his bag and saying in a distracted, strained voice, “I— I have to go inside.”

Before she can answer, he abruptly takes off across the parking lot, ignoring her plea for him to wait, and disappears through the front door of the building. Jane swears under her breath and follows him, clicking a button on her keys to lock the car behind her. By the time she gets through the building and up the stairs, the front door to the apartment is wide open, Sam’s bag and coat left in a heap on the floor just inside.

At first, she doesn’t see Sam anywhere, but then she hears the low-pitched hum of his voice coming from the direction of the bedroom. She follows the sound to find Sam pacing desperately back and forth in his room near the foot of the bed, his voice a shaky, wordless whimper as he tugs at his hair and his clothes, a flurry of frantic movement. His face is contorted into a grimace, eyes squeezed shut against the feeling of overstimulation assaulting his senses.

“Sam,” Jane says in a clear but gentle voice. “Sam, you’re going to be okay. Can you sit down for me?”

He lets out another strangled whine, hands flailing out before he reaches up to grab at either side of his head, fingers twisting in his hair above his ears. He shakes his head, though whether it’s in response to her question or just a reaction to his current state, Jane can’t tell.

She tries again. “Sam. Sit down for me. Here on the bed.” He’s close enough to it, and she comes closer, reaching forward to pat the blankets. “Come on. You can do this.”

The whine becomes one long, steady sound, punctuated only by Sam’s desperate gasps for breath, but some part of him must be listening, because he sits down heavily on the bed, rocking his body back and forth, trying to regulate his overactive system.

“That’s it…” Jane encourages. “You’ll be okay.”

He closes his eyes and arches his back, raising his face in the direction of the ceiling, biting his bottom lip so hard Jane is surprised he doesn’t draw blood. The rocking continues, every movement a frantic attempt at finding some comfort.

“Sam, can I touch you?” Jane asks gently.

Sam responds by practically throwing himself onto the bed, twisting so he’s laying on his stomach. His hands are still desperately clutching at his head, and his whole body is so tense that he seems to be barely breathing.

“Sam, can I touch your back?” Jane asks again, reaching out a hand and letting it hover over Sam’s body as she waits for an answer.

He slams his hands down on the mattress over his head, letting out a rough, wordless groan. But after a few seconds, he nods, face pressed against the blankets.

Jane lowers her hand and starts to rub his back, applying firm pressure as she works her way across the tense muscles. She tries to keep her hands as steady and even as possible, moving in a predictable pattern back and forth across the t-shirt clad surface of his back. Sam starts to sob in earnest then, body shaking with each shuddering breath, but Jane feels him relax ever so slightly, and she keeps up the firm pressure, hand moving in slow circles. “It’s alright, sweetie. It’s gonna be alright…” she murmurs soothingly, keeping her voice steady and low.

It takes another several minutes, but with each passing moment, Jane feels the tension of the situation ease, as Sam’s cries become less and less pronounced and he starts to go limp under her touch, relaxing into the mattress as he gulps in shuddering breaths.

“Good job,” she whispers. “You’re doing great.”

Finally, Sam seems to tire himself out, and he remains motionless and quiet on the bed, half-closed eyes staring at nothing in particular.

“That’s good, Sam,” Jane continues in her soft voice. “You’re safe. You take as much time as you need.”

The afternoon is much quieter for a while, all thought of decorating gone from both of their minds.

* * *

When Dean comes home later that afternoon, he trudges through the parking lot, his feet and back protesting at every step. He still feels like crap, but he decides at least he can take a little pride in having made it through the whole shift, despite the way he felt. Still, the idea of a comfortable bed, a warm apartment, and no more hard manual labor for the day are extremely appealing, and he keeps those thoughts in mind as he drags himself through the door of the building, up the stairs, and down the hall towards home.

He nearly misses it, walking right past the apartment with the wreath on the front door until he stops and backpedals, checking the apartment number on the door to confirm that he is indeed in the right place. He gazes curiously at the evergreen wreath that has a red and silver ribbon wrapped through it and tiny red holly berries scattered amongst the pine needles.

_Huh. When did that get there?_ He thinks, wondering if it was one of their neighbors. Too tired to think much beyond that, he digs his keys out of his pocket and sticks the house key in the lock, pushing the front door open. As he closes the door behind him and looks up, he stops short at the scene in front of him.

Sam and Jane are both in the living room, halfway through hanging a string of Christmas lights around the window. Sam twists around at the sound of the door closing and gives him a happy grin, greeting him with a warm “Merry Christmas!”

Dean stares back at him mutely, trying to figure out what’s going on. The dining table is loaded with plastic bags, one of which has a shiny silver garland spilling out of it. There are stockings hung from plastic hooks on either side of the TV, and Dean chuckles when he sees the designs. Sprawled across the back of the couch is a giant stuffed reindeer wearing a red and white scarf.

“How… what… what’d you guys do?” Dean asks slowly as he takes it all in.

Sam takes another piece of tape from Jane, reaching up to secure a section of lights in place. “It’s Christmas,” he answers, as if that much should be obvious.

“I… can see that,” Dean answers, kicking off his shoes and tossing his hoodie over the back of a dining chair. “You guys got all this today?”

“Yeah.” Sam gives him an apprehensive look as he tapes up the last of the lights and moves across the living room to stand closer to his brother. “Do you like it?”

Dean shakes his head in disbelief with a soft laugh. “Sam, I love it. Thank you.”

Sam looks immensely pleased with this response, and so does Jane as she joins them, asking Dean, “How was your day? How are you feeling?”

In response Dean lets out a massive yawn, and Jane takes that as her cue to grab his arm and maneuver him over to the couch, commanding him to sit down. “I knew you’d tire yourself out working all day like that,” she scolds.

Dean coughs into his shoulder, sniffling softly as he gazes up at her, standing over him with her arms folded across her chest. “Yeah, well,” he says, “It was worth it to come home to this.” He takes another look around the room as he leans back against the couch cushions. To Sam, he adds, “And tomorrow, we’ll get a tree.”

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother’s stubbornness, shaking his head. “Uh-uh. Tomorrow, you’re staying right here until you feel better.”

Dean is about to protest, but is interrupted by a sudden sneeze, his body pitching forward at the force of it. _“heh’IHHHTSHCHH!”_

Raising an eyebrow, Sam adds, “Deal?”

Dean takes a deep breath, sniffling as he reaches towards the coffee table for the box of tissues. “Okay,” he answers before he presses a tissue to his nose. “Deal.” He looks up at Sam, and then over at Jane, who is switching on the lights in the Christmas village houses on top of the bookcase, adding a peaceful, golden light to the room. “What would I do without you guys?”


End file.
